


nothing happens if you just give in

by mchonda



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, jack and spot actually love each other fight me, there's no canon typical homophobia in my newsies fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mchonda/pseuds/mchonda
Summary: 5 times jack and spot have each other's backs





	1. five

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neabee/gifts).



> hi this will just be a whole lot of spot/jack friendship bc it's what we deserve. 
> 
> just some background:  
> 1\. there is no such thing as homophobia in this timeline o' mine  
> 2\. davey and jack have been together since the strike   
> 3\. spot and race are kinda together but kinda not but that's for another chapter  
> 4\. brooklyn and manhattan have each other's backs don't @ me 
> 
> HAPPY READING 
> 
> (im also gifting this to nea bc she is always ready to hype me up when i come to her with spot and jack head canon's.)

 

one chilly october afternoon jack is hawking headlines with the same enthusiasm as one would have toward brushing their teeth when a boy in red comes sprinting into jack’s space. he’s panting when he comes face to face with jack, bent at the waist to brace his hands on his knees and giving jack the impression that the boy ran the entirety of the brooklyn bridge. he’s tempted to reach out and place a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder but decides against it because boy’s in red aren’t _his._ they’re spot’s.

instead, jack finishes selling a paper to an older man in a three-piece suit and top hat and raises an eyebrow at the newcomer. “to what do i owe the pleasure, brooklyn?” he says, pocketing the coins and leaning back against the closest wall.

the brooklyn boy heaves in air for another moment before straightening, spitting in his hand, and holding it out to jack. “name’s sniper, we need your help.”

jack returns the handshake while a small bubble of nerves starts to form in his chest. “how so?”

“it’s spot,” sniper says. “he’s…he ain’t been doing too hot, he’s had this cough. ugly sounding thing like he’s trying to cough out his damn lungs. we thought it’d be gone by now it’s been almost three weeks, but he started coughing up shit last night and it looked a hell of a lot like blood.”

jack lets out a long breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. something that feels a little too much like fear starts to eat at his insides causing his fingers to tremble and his heart to thud like a drum. he’d known spot had been poorly, racetrack having brought word back weeks ago of a ghastly looking spot conlon trying to sell around hacking coughs. he’d been tempted to go see the teen himself but knew spot would skin him alive for daring to come check on him, so he let it be and subtly ordered race to keep an eye out. not that race needed to be ordered to do something he was already doing. days ago, race came back over the bridge reporting that spot was apparently too ill to sell anymore. he didn’t know too ill meant coughing up blood, the one thing they all fear every cough will turn into.

“shit, spot,” jack whispers.

“we don’t know what to do, kelly, and you is the closest leader who actually gives two shits about him.”

jack swallows past a lump in his throat and forces himself to square his shoulders and push off the wall. “okay, your emergency fund, what state is it in?”

sniper lifts his chin and squints at him, nearly making jack groan aloud. “how do you know about our fund?”

“because we have one too, now isn’t the time to be shifty with me. i wouldn’t know about it if he didn’t want me to know about it, got it?”

“we haven’t had to dip into it since the strike. what are you thinking?”

“enough for a doctor?”

sniper’s eyes widen. “you think he needs a doc?”

jack winces and reminds himself that this is a _kid_ in front of him. even when every newsie learns early on that needing a doctor was only one step lower than needing a hospital, both of which were too expensive. jack needed to handle this delicately, as if dealing with his own kids. he puts a hand on sniper’s shoulder and says, “i think he does. now do you think he’s put enough away to call one?”

sniper’s brow wrinkles up as he bites his bottom lip. “i don’t know. skittery is spot’s second, he deals with the numbers.”

jack squeezes the kid’s shoulder and nods. “okay, you’re coming with me back to our lodge. i’m going to get a few things, get my boys squared away, and then we are going to go see spot. got it?”

sniper nods rapidly. “thank you.”

instead of replying, jack starts the trek to the manhattan lodge with the kid by his side. by the time they get there, schoolboys are flooding the streets and he catches elmer and albert taking advantage of the coins burning a hole in the schoolkid’s pockets. he waves off albert’s questioning look and leads sniper inside to find the house in its usual rambunctious state. which means davey – still in his uniform – locked in a scuffle with race while les and crutchie egg on the play fight. they should really be out selling but for a moment jack stands and watches the chaos, trying to not give any attention to the voice inside him whispering _what if it was one of your boys coughing up blood._ that wasn’t right, though, because in some weird, backwards way spot is one of his own. no matter how much they enjoy bickering with one another, spot is the oldest _friend_ jack has and he’ll be damned if he lets some cough take that away.

sniper’s antsy movements next to him has jack shaking his head and clapping loudly. “oi, racer, you best not be damaging dave’s beautiful uniform! you really wanna bring down the wrath of mama jacob’s on us all?”

davey yelps as race lets him fall out of a headlock and crash to the floor, race whistling innocently. “i was doing no such thing, jackie-boy. hey, sniper, what you doing here?”

jack takes a deep breath and lays a hand on sniper’s shoulder, urging the boy to let him answer race’s question. everyone knows about the charged air between race and spot, whether the two of them have acted on it yet or not. the only thing that’s kept race from supergluing himself to spot’s side the moment he stopped selling was jack’s fear of him catching whatever spot has.

jack lets go of sniper and pulls his bag over his head. “hey, les, why don’t you go out with elmer and albert and work some magic for me? my selling ain’t on point today.”

as expected, the kid leaps up and eagerly snatches up jack’s leftover papers. “you know i’ll have ‘em all gone in no time.”

despite his mood, jack still finds himself laughing and roughing up les’ hair. “i know you will, go get ‘em kid.”

les shoots out of the house like a dart and jack waits for the door to swing shut behind him before tossing an arm over race’s shoulders. “he’s here about spot, racer. he’s…his cough ain’t looking too good.”

jack feels race stiffen under his arm while he watches davey get to his feet and come closer. “what do you mean, jack,” davey says.

jack pulls race in a little tighter as he says, “they seen him coughing up blood through the night.”

he hears a soft gasp from crutchie before race is shoving out of jack’s hold. jack snatches him by the back of the shirt even as race hisses, “let me go, jack! I’m going over there I should have been over there all week!”

“racer, stop,” jack says, grabbing the boy by the shoulders. “racetrack, I know. that’s what I came back here for, i’m just grabbing the emergency fund before heading over the bridge.”

race’s eyes widen, cheeks flushing red. “the fund?”

“i think…he’s probably going to need a doctor and i want to be prepared to help if he does,” jack says and shakes race slightly. “now is there any way i can convince you to stay here and hold down the fort?”

that gets him lightly shoved in the chest. “in your dreams, like you would stay here if it were dave.”

it’s a bit of an unnecessary low blow, but jack lets it slide with a sigh. he peaks at davey over race’s shoulder and finds him biting at his thumb, a certain kind of nervousness taking over his features that has jack softening. he would carry davey to the hospital himself if his and spot’s positions were reversed. which isn’t saying much considering jack isn’t ruling out the idea of hiking spot over his shoulder and marching him to the closest doctor he can find when he gets to brooklyn. but he knows what race is getting at.

“figured as much,” jack says and squeezes race’s shoulders once more before releasing him. “okay, dave, crutchie can i leave you two in charge while race and i pop over to brooklyn? we should be back by tomorrow night…or at least i will.”

davey nods as crutchie grins. “course, the kids like us better anyway,” crutchie says, hobbling over to pat race on the back. “you take care of your boy.”

“dave, help me get some things?” jack says, walking toward the stairs.

davey is already following him and it makes warmth burst in his chest. jack pushes open the door to his and crutchie’s room and makes a beeline for the bunk beds. he braces his back against one of the posts and nods at davey. “can you come shove the other side, i need to get underneath.”

“what’s underneath?” davey says while bracing himself against the other post.

“push – it’s the emergency fund. okay, that’s good.” the bunkbed screeches across the floor revealing the floorboard jack has committed to memory. he tucks his fingers into the crease and wrenches the board up to reveal a small space occupied by a shoebox. “race and crutchie are the only ones who know where it is, now so do you. so, if something ever happens, you know what to grab.”

he takes out the shoebox as davey kneels next to him. he feels davey’s hand circle the back of his neck and lets himself lean into the contact. “you think he’s in a real bad way, don’t ya?”

jack sighs shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “one of his boys is over here asking for help which means he ain’t in the right mind to object. yeah, i think it’s bad.”

“okay,” davey says, voice low and meant only for jack. “i’ll clear it with my ma and stay in the lodge tonight and make sure crutchie and albert have everything under control before i leave for school. you just focus on helping spot.”

jack drops his hand from his face and pats davey on the chest, a helplessly fond smile taking over his mouth. “you is one of a kind, dave.”

davey bumps his forehead against jack’s temple and says, “yeah, i guess you’re alright too.”

they make it over the brooklyn bridge before the breeze picks up and steals the warmth from their skin. he tries to not stiffen every time someone brushes too close, almost positive they’ll sense the money he’s carrying and soak them all. but they make it to the brooklyn lodging house without so much as a hiccup. there are a few boys in red lingering in front, but none of them stop them, only murmur softly to each other.

as soon as jack is through the front door, he can hear spot. his coughs echo through the space, threatening to knock down the walls around them and force the world to listen. race lets out a soft whine before darting across the entry room toward the set of stairs tucked in the corner of the house. sniper sighs next to him and nudges jack.

“c’mon i’ll take you up and find skittery.”

jack hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and nods at the few boys mingling as he follows sniper up the stairs. the sound of spot’s coughs rattle jack’s bones and make him grip his bag harder. seems like he made the right decision in bringing the fund. when sniper stops at an open doorway jack takes a deep breath and pushes past him to get inside. race is already making himself comfortable at the foot of spot’s bed, hands wrapped around spot’s covered legs, hunched over spot like some unmovable guardian angel. spot is laying back against a few pillows keeping his upper body elevated like jack does for the kids who come down with a cough. jack’s known spot for longer than he can really keep track of, and he can count on one hand how many times he’s seen him look this pale and out of it.

“you really got yourself in some shit this time, aye, spotty?”

spot’s closed eyes crack open and it does nothing to reassure jack when he sees his eyes have a glassy shine to them.  “jack?” spot says, voice rugged and breathy all at once.

jack refuses to let his heartbreak at the sound of it, he knows spot will sense it and kick his ass when he’s better. “yeah, spot. hear you’re letting some cough kick your ass. race is making you soft.”

something that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a sob comes from race, but jack doesn’t call attention to it. instead, he moves closer and kneels by spot’s bed, unnerved that spot only watches him rather than run his mouth about jack carrying diseases or something equally obnoxious.  then spot sucks in a breath and his body snaps forward with the force of his cough, hand coming up to try and cover his mouth. jack watches with wide eyes as spot’s hand comes away with specks of red and clear liquid and jack unwillingly finds himself wrapping a hand around spot’s arm.

“jack,” race whispers, eyes never leaving spot’s heaving form.

“yeah, yeah. we’re going to get you a doctor, spot. you’ll be brand-spankin' new in no time,” jack says, squeezing spot’s warm arm. “i got your back this one time, ya hear?”

“kelly.”

jack squares his shoulders at skittery’s voice and stands after patting spot’s arm. he turns and finds the brunette leaning against the doorway with a frown. he’s no younger than him and spot, but with spot’s rattling breath behind him, everyone looks younger to jack. more fragile, more vulnerable.

“hey, skittery. think we have a doctor to call,” jack says, walking forward to clap the boy on the shoulder.

skittery sighs and nods. “yeah, let’s see how much we got.”

they get a doctor and only hours later spot is diagnosed with a severe case of bronchitis, bedside table laden with medicine and water. jack sends money over periodically to cover race and spot even if skittery assures him brooklyn has spot covered, jack doesn’t care. race refuses to leave spot while he recovers, and jack’s brain won’t let him sleep if he doesn’t make sure brooklyn’s emergency fund is recovering. if a few coins from jack helps both these problems, brooklyn will just have to get over it.

it’s worth it when spot is back in the manhattan house three weeks later, scowling at jack as he gets dealt in on another racetrack higgin’s poker night. jack only tips his hat at him and finally lets the image of spot’s blood covered hand evaporate from his memories.

 

 


	2. now them soaker's is in for soaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the three goons stomp out their smokes. the tallest of the bunch, a boy with a hooked nose and a dusting of hair on his upper lip steps forward, eyes squinted and staring spot down. “who the fuck are ya, short stuff?”
> 
> spot rolls his eyes, this guy isn’t even trying to be creative. “name’s spot conlon, i run the brooklyn newsboys.”
> 
> the kid – because that’s all the boys are, kids – laughs, or spot thinks it’s a laugh, it’s hard to tell when it just sounds like a horse neighing. “well, what do ya want, spot conlon?”
> 
> spot tilts his head and smiles, catching sniper raising his slingshot out of the corner of his eye. “you see, you been causing trouble for the manhattan newsies and that’s well and fine,” spot says and lowers his cane. “but then you went and hurt a couple friend’s o’ mine and if there’s one thing everybody knows about me, it’s that no one hurts friends o’ mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than i thought it would be but it's been in my drafts for too long so here it is
> 
> sidenote:  
> \- blue and runner are made up and i love them dearly  
> \- i'm aware that sniper is technically manhattan in canon but i stole him and gave him to spot bc i can
> 
> xx

spot would never tell another living being – least of all jack for fear it would go straight to his big, dumb head – but he considers jack kelly to be one of the best friends he has. he’s known him since they were both too young and too damaged to be dragged along to a meeting between the leaders of brooklyn and manhattan. both shoved off to a corner where apprehensive glares turned into a game of tic-tac-toe using rocks and woodchips, and tic-tac-toe turned into meeting near the east river to trade potato chips and coins. he respects the guy, trusts him even more – even more so after spot’s untimely row with bronchitis – and knows that if shit was going down in manhattan, jack would come to him.

so, when runner comes hurling into the square where spot is selling, panting out “jack” and “soaking,” spot is understandably panicked. he puts his hands on the girl’s heaving shoulders and says, “slow down, runner. what’s up?”

“it’s-it’s jack. damn, boss, i don’t know how he made it over the bridge himself,” she says, straightening up and blinking at spot with huge green eyes.

her words don’t do anything to quell the sick feeling seeping into his body. “he’s here?”

runner nods. “think he used every stubborn bone in his body to make it. skit and sniper were by the bridge when he came over, started to get him to the lodge and sent me out for you.”

she’s looking at him as if waiting for approval that how the three of them handled the situation is up to spot’s standards. through the thunderstorm of raw concern, spot forces himself to soften. “you did good, kid. now let’s go see what that big idiot got himself into.”

spot intends to walk back to the lodge like the stoic, unemotional leader he is, but his body must think differently because he finds himself running instead. okay, maybe all of him thinks differently. from runner’s account, jack is hurt, really fucking hurt and for some reason he’s _here_ , in spot’s kingdom. it makes spot’s heart thud in his fingertips. stupid jack kelly, making spot do something as gross as _worry._

the lodge comes into view and spot’s insides clench up with anticipation. taking a deep breath, he stomps inside, calling out for sniper and skittery when he finds the first-floor barren. “your room, spot!” sniper yells, voice slightly muffled through the walls.

spot takes the stairs two at a time, discarding his half-full bag of papers in the hallway as a reminder for himself to send someone out with them, and steps inside his room. at the sight of the form on his bed, gravity shuts off and all his insides threaten to float away.

“fucking hell, jack,” spot whispers unconsciously.

the blood is the first thing he notices, the one that has all of spot’s carefully constructed masks disintegrating into a pile of _fuck, fuck, fuck._ the left side of jack’s body is a mess of it, dress shirt sleeve ripped and drenched in red from what spot can tell is a knife wound. there are scrapes and cracked skin along his jaw line and cheekbones and spot’s seen enough fights to know the work of brass knuckles, has been the victim of them once or twice too. jack’s red rimmed eyes crack open and pin spot in his shoes. “oh, how the tables turn, don’t they, spotty?”

spot blinks before rolling his eyes. last month when it was spot laid up in bed and jack standing where spot is, figuring out a way to have spot’s back. he clenches his fists, time to return the favor. he glances over at sniper and says, “first aid kit?”

sniper nods and darts out of the room while spot looks at skittery. “i’ve got about a half bag left, could you handle it?”

skittery pats jack’s foot and winks at spot, saying, “i’ll work my magic. you’ll tell us who needs a slugging over in ‘hattan, yeah?”

jack makes some kind of sputtering noise that trickles off into a choked back gasp of pain. spot nods at skittery as he leaves, and sniper comes skidding back to the doorframe. spot takes the meager bag and jerks his chin after skittery. “go with him, if you stumble on blue send her here.”

jack groans behind him and it makes spot smirk a little. blue is the closest thing manhatten and brooklyn have to a nurse. she’s bound to fix you up but not without a lecture coming hand in hand with it. he shuts the door behind sniper and says, “it’ll serve you right, getting yourself soaked this bad.”

turning back, spot finds jack with his bloody arm pulled over his chest and his beat-up face tipped back against the wall spot’s bunk is pushed up on. his eyes are screwed shut and the flat line of his mouth has spot battling between anger and concern. wants to claw apart whoever’s responsible for the state jack is in and also do something dumb like hug him. one is more up spot’s alley.

spot sits on the bed at jack’s side, dropping the bag in jacks lap to grab his arm. “better just be a flesh wound, you shithead,” he says, pulling jack’s arm toward him and searching for the wound.

“it was a lucky swipe.”

it looks like it when spot finds it. only an inch-long thing oozing enough blood to be slightly worrying, but nothing that’s going to result in jack’s early death. spot sighs and finds a pair of scissors to cut away the sleeve. “you wanna explain, tough guy?”

“just this, some knuckles to the face. they went for the ribs mostly.”

spot glares at jack after tossing the bloodied fabric to the floor. “i meant how you wound up like this and why you’re here but thank you for the information. take off your shirt, idiot, now i gotta check you didn’t break something.” honestly, the things he did for this guy.

“nothing’s broken, you just want me out of my clothes.”

“nice try. let me check or blue will.”

jack lets out a loud breath and doesn’t meet spot’s eyes, mouth forming that tense line once more. “think you gonna have to get me out of it yourself,” jack says like it pains him to admit it.

so, without a word about it, spot cuts jack’s shirt and pushes lightly around jack’s ribs. he hasn’t had to do this one since race came limping back from the fight during the strike and it makes him feel sick. doesn’t like how breakable they all are when they lead the life they do. jack is right, though, spot doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary and that knowledge has him releasing a relieved breath.

he leaves for a moment to wet a cloth before coming back and wiping down the knife wound. manhattan would kill him if jack developed an infection. “what the fuck happened, jack?”

jack sighs softly, still avoiding spot’s eye. “some punks bugging the boys when they selling, ruining their papers, the usual. it was fine for a few days, my kids know how to take care of themselves and i thought they’d just get bored eventually, find new targets.”

spot grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw hurt and busies himself with pulling out the roll of bandages so he doesn’t hit something. spot _hates_ people like that, thugs who have nothing better to do than beat on a bunch of kids trying to make a living. in brooklyn, the reputation he’s carefully crafted keeps his kids safe from bullies like that. each newsie metaphorically branded as _spot’s,_ a glaring promise of retribution should anyone fancy themselves a slugger.

“i assume they didn’t,” spot says, starting to wrap jack’s arm.

jack hisses under his breath as spot covers the knife wound. “they cornered dave and les on their way home from school. davey was able to distract ‘em enough for les to run. three to one and you know davey’s not much of a fighter.”

spot looks up sharply and finds jack’s eyes shut and face pinched. going after jack’s kids is one thing, but everyone with eyes knows you don’t go after the jacobs family. doing so is only asking for a rage fueled visit from not only jack kelly but the whole manhattan lodging house. hell, if he’d known those buffoons roughed up davey, they’d have gotten a visit from _him_ too.

“he’s okay?”

jack nods minutely and spot relaxes enough to continue wrapping jack’s arm. “sporting a shiner and a limp that puts crutchie to shame, but he’ll heal up. he may not be a fighter but he’s tough as nails. left him with racer and specs, and, well-.”

spot rolls his eyes and cuts the bandage, tucking the end of it under a few of the layers. it’s a shabby job and blue will probably want to stitch it, but it’ll keep jack from bleeding out in the meantime.

“let me guess, you went looking for the guys. alone,” spot says because he knows jack kelly like the back of his hand.

jack opens his eyes and spot smirks under the pathetic glare. “didn’t think it through much. i saw davey and i thought, hell, i don’t know what i thought.”

“you didn’t think anything,” spot says with a shrug. “if it were anyone else you would have come and got me, but it was davey and your brain falls outta your feet when it comes to him.”

jack tries to swat at him and spot watches as the guy remembers his knife wound, groaning before he can hit spot. “yeah, well, we can’t all be the kid even adults are put off by.”

spot shakes his head and starts cleaning up the mess. “so, you got the shit beat out of ya. doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

jack slinks down on the bed until he is lying flat with his uninjured arm thrown over his eyes. spot should wipe down the cuts on jack’s face, but even that is pushing it for spot. blue can do that shit.

“the last thing i needed was my kids seeing me like this, especially les. not to mention davey too.”

spot tips his head at jack in understanding. “well i ain’t sending you back until i sure you ain’t going to pass out from blood loss.” spot is treated to jack’s middle finger, making him snicker. “you want to tell me what these guys looked like.”

“tall as davey, always smoking in the alley behind jacobi’s. i was more focused on keeping my guts inside my body. why?”

spot waves him off. “just wanna keep an eye out, they won’t come here if they know what’s good for ‘em.”

he hears the door slam downstairs and he grins. “boss?” blue yells.

jack groans as spot calls back, “my room!”

blue barges in, blonde hair tied in braids under her hat and big, blue eyes set in a glare. spot pats jack’s shin and says, “you are in capable hands now. i’ll go get word back to manhattan that you ain’t dead.”

jack doesn’t seem to catch his little white lie, too busy avoiding blue’s gaze. spot turns to blue and flicks her hat. “the idiot is all yours.”

so, spot doesn’t go give runner a message to head over to manhattan, instead he grabs sniper and lets skittery know they’ll be back by sundown. they cross the bridge with sniper’s slingshot and the cane spot only uses as a weapon these days, fire kindling low in their stomachs. the thugs aren’t hard to track down, it’s harder to avoid being seen by any of jack’s kids, but they manage. they’re smoking behind jacobi’s, tucked in the shadows and laughing over their bloody knuckles.

spot urges sniper to the fire escape before stepping into the alley, swinging his cane up onto his shoulder. “afternoon, fellas.”

the three goons stomp out their smokes. the tallest of the bunch, a boy with a hooked nose and a dusting of hair on his upper lip steps forward, eyes squinted and staring spot down. “who the fuck are ya, short stuff?”

spot rolls his eyes, this guy isn’t even trying to be creative. “name’s spot conlon, i run the brooklyn newsboys.”

the kid – because that’s all the boys are, kids – laughs, or spot thinks it’s a laugh, it’s hard to tell when it just sounds like a horse neighing. “well, what do ya want, spot conlon?”

spot tilts his head and smiles, catching sniper raising his slingshot out of the corner of his eye. “you see, you been causing trouble for the manhattan newsies and that’s well and fine,” spot says and lowers his cane. “but then you went and hurt a couple friend’s o’ mine and if there’s one thing everybody knows about me, it’s that no one hurts friends o’ mine.”

sniper releases a rock and spot goes swinging.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: willrolcnd


End file.
